


Vision of Oblivion

by the-trickster-and-the-optimist (wwretchedwwaltzing)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dark Elf!Loki, Dumner!Loki, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nord!Thor, Xenophobia, non-explicit mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wwretchedwwaltzing/pseuds/the-trickster-and-the-optimist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is a dunmer with the worst luck in the whole of Tamriel and a distinct hatred of Nords - Thor is a Nord who can't help but help. They stumble upon a Daedric artefact that will force the both of them to open up about their pasts and trust each other, or risk a repeat of the Interregnum - a devastating event in which Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of Domination and Enslavement, attempted to drag the entirety of Tamriel into his hellish realm. Easier said than done. </p><p>--- </p><p>This fic is beta'd by someone unfamiliar with the Elder Scrolls universe and has been written to be easy to understand for those who have never played TES games or read any of the lore. Prior knowledge of Morrowind/Oblivion/Skyrim/TESOnline is not required to read this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At the base of a lone crest, in the midst of a volcanic tundra, in the pale milky light of dawn, a single mer stirred himself awake.

He was like many of his race; sloped, red, haunted eyes; ashen, tired skin; thin, chapped lips; heavy brow-ridges [though not as heavy as most]; litheness of body; and a sharpness of mind that would make all but the most foolish wary of his presence. As far as Dunmer - dark elves - went, however, Loki was a little odd. His skin was far paler than others, and he was far more at ease with the cold of Skyrim than the other Dunmer, who loathed it.

Despite the desire to remain wrapped in his warm bedroll by the now gently smouldering fire, Loki knew it was too dangerous to stick in one place for too long. For one he was too far into the volcanically active tundra to find food. There was too much ash and acidic water (though part of him remembered his old home being much the same, and his heart clenched). He hadn't intended to head so far east, but after he pissed off a group of giants by stumbling too close to their mammoth herd, he'd had no other choice but to flee. For another, the crest he was sheltered in was known to be the nest of a dragon, and though he'd heard no mountain-shaking roars yet, he didn't intend to stick around long enough to find out.

Finally exposing himself to the cold, he grabbed his pack, dragging it closer to the warmth spot he was curled up in. It was made of dark, almost black wolf fur, and had an amulet of Arkay tied to the clasp. He did not spend too long on examining the battered amulet, popping open the pack and searching inside. He still had some soup in a waterskin he'd made from oysters he fished off of Windhelm, and a few slices of bread, which were a bit stale but good for toasting. He poured the soup into a small cooking skin to heat up, and toasted the bread against a rock, curling back up in the warmth of his bedroll until his breakfast was done. 

Loki sat cross-legged on his bedroll as he ate, thinking over what he needed to do. He'd just eaten the last of his food - he could south towards Riften and hunt goat on the rocky slopes, and then veer west and go to Darkwater Crossing when he'd done. He was sure the miners there would take some of the goat's meat in return for other things he needed. For one, some furs for a warm, thick bedroll before the snows of winter rolled in, access to a grindstone to sharpen his weapons. 

He frowned and dipped his toast into the soup, chewing it thoughtfully. Or he could return home to Windhelm.

Like the other Dark Elven refugees that had gone to mainland, even though he had lived in Solstheim, he had a home in the aptly named Grey Quarter - a small, very run down apartment close to the tavern, and though it was small, he had everything he'd needed - an enchanting table, a place to practice alchemy and magic, a bed - he could have lived there happily. But it was a dangerous, lonely, miserable place to live. He'd suffered break ins, thefts, assault. And one time, in the dark reaches of the alleys untrodden by the guards, a Nord with mead on his breath and hatred in his eyes...

No. He promised himself after that event he'd never step into Windhelm ever again. Even though the Imperials had put the Stormcloak Revolution down years ago, the bitter veterans fought their own, private war, the one that sought to exterminate anyone who wasn't a Nord. Though many Stormcloaks accepted defeat gracefully, and many were pleasant and loathed the racism that Ulfric Stormcloak had perpetuated despite of their core cause, there was definitely a group that were loud and insistent and superior.

He stamped the fire out and used a little water to wash the cooking skin out, packing his things away. No, he didn't need that any more. He preferred his nomadic lifestyle to the constant, unending oppression that the Gray Quarter's streets promised. This life was dangerous, and he was hungry more often than not, and constantly had to be wary of bandits and thieves and brigands. But Gods, he was happier. He was free to go and do what he pleased, and he rarely met other people. 

He checked through this things to ensure he hadn't suffered a theft during the night. He had a tinderbox; a cooking skin and a stand to hold it up; his bedroll; a small handful of soul gems for enchanting and trading; some oyster shells with mother-of-pearl inside he planned to turn into jewellery and sell; a pair of Elven daggers, stolen when he'd stumbled upon a group of Thalmor; his ebony bow and a quiver of arrows, his prized possessions; a pair of waterskins, one for food, one for water; a bag of alchemical supplies, in case he got injured or sick; a battered spellbook; a woodcutters axe; and finally, a small bag of gold pieces. 

Satisfied, he got to his feet, tying his bedroll, axe and waterskin to his pack, and put it on along with his quiver, bow, daggers, hood and boots. He hadn't changed out of his leather armour the previous night, preferring the extra warmth despite the discomfort. After ensuring his fire was well and truly stamped out, he set off.

His trek carried him down away from the crest, following the scars in the earth where it cracked, shifting and moaning as the pressure underneath the earth's crust changed and rolled, unsettled. In other places, the ash had solidified into a sort of hard crust where water had once flowed, but the path had changed or the source of the water had run dry, and in others, it had collected into huge dunes where the wind had whipped it up into piles. The general slope of the land headed down into a valley in the west, where the Darkwater river flowed north towards the Sea of Ghosts. 

Loki, however, was heading south, parallel to the river. Small pools of acidic water came into view, surrounded by tussocks of yellowish-brown grass and lips of fire-scorched rocks jutting out of the earth, and he weaved between them to avoid the sputtering geysers. 

He came to another plate of stone that sheltered ash so it formed a bank, and then from there, the ash stopped and real earth flourished before rising up into a sheer, stomach-twisting drop. He took a breath and jumped down the bank, the silty-ash-earth giving way, but he didn't even reach the bottom before a terrible roar echoed around the mountains and the earth shaking caused him to career down the slope uncontrollably, before landing in a winded heap at the bottom with hot breath against his face.

Loki almost daren't open his eyes in case his worse fears were true, but he did so anyway, peeling them open inch by inch until the very clear shape of a very angry dragon came into view. Holding his breath, Loki froze, feeling like a rabbit in the hypnotic gaze of a wolf. He was sure even his heart had stopped.

There was a sudden and loud thunk and the dragon's gaze was broken - quite specifically, by a heavy rock striking it on the brow. It growled and turned towards its assailant, giving Loki an opportunity to scramble to his feet and nock an arrow, pulling the drawstring taut and aiming the arrow towards the dragon's eye and letting it loose.

For the first time Loki could see who had distracted the dragon; a Nord, and a quintessential one at that. He had fair, jaw-length hair, a short beard, and bright, sharp eyes with dark lashes. He was well built, too, and wore a set of light leather armour and a stylised helm - clearly wealthier than Loki, at any rate. He wielded a war hammer with a shortened handle in one hand and allowed his other one free, for counterbalance, Loki guessed

Momentarily distracted by the dragon as he was, Loki did not see the dragon take off again, angered by his arrow. His aim with a bow would be useless, and his arrows would not do much damage, and so he strung it back across his chest and summoned magic through his veins, taking a few steps towards the Nord.

"Thank you," Loki gasped, falling behind him to cover the Nord's back. 

"My pleasure." He replied, a low, rumbling voice, like thunder rolling across the plains. It was a voice Loki instinctively trusted. 

"Do I get your name before this dragon eats the both of us whole?" the Dunmer asked, watching the dragon circle overhead, and he heard a low chuckle before the Nord answered.

"Thor, and I don't think he'll eat us any time soon." Thor, Thor, where had Loki heard that name before? "And yours, elf?"

"Loki." He managed to get a clear shot and took it, snapping his arm and sending a shard of supercooled ice towards the dragon, which shattered and froze against the creature's wing. It seemed more than a little miffed at Loki's trick, and because of the weight of the ice, was forced to crash land heavily into the side of the slope above them and tumble back to earth. 

"Nice shot," Thor whistled appreciatively, and Loki gave him a smug grin. 

Together, they jogged towards the dragon's landing site, where it was shaking dirt from itself and snapping at the ice until it broke an its wing was free - but Loki could see the ice burns scarring the wing from elbow to wrist. 

Things went very, very wrong from there. 

The dragon's jaws opened and the air rippled, but Loki didn't realise what happened until he was lay in another dazed heap against a cliff wall, nose bleeding, ears ringing. The dragon had let loose a 'thu'um' - a shout - free, using words to channel the pure magic into a tangible spell. Thor had fared no better to the blast, having skidded across the earth and slammed into the pile of ash. 

Loki tried to rouse himself, even though his head refused to figure out which way was up and his stomach threatened to reject the oyster soup he'd eaten at breakfast. And his vision... Divines above, he thought dizzily, he'd never had vision so blurred. 

The dragon was stalking towards Thor with a smug look on his lizardy face [and Loki had spent too much time working with Argonians down at the docks of Windhelm, and so he knew exactly how a lizard could look smug], and Thor was still sprawled out, most likely unconscious from how he didn't move an inch. Or dead. Dead seemed likely to Loki, especially if he had suffered the full blast of the Thu'um. 

Loki lifted his hand and summoned magic, feeling like the air around him had been sucked into his body, and let it burst free. Lightning crackled down his arm and out of his fingertips, striking the dragon's shoulder and running all the way through its body and into the ground. It roared in agony, muscles locking, before the magic in Loki's body ran out and the air collapsed back. 

The spell was enough to turn the dragon away from Thor, but now it was focused on Loki, which presented a whole different problem. The dunmer was still too dizzy to think straight, never mind fight off a dragon on his own. His heart sunk as slowly, he accepted he was not likely to escape this. Even so, he drew his arm back and scooped up his last reserves of magic, mind working to try and figure out the most effective spell to use right now. The lightning had worked great but he couldn't muster the energy to cast it again, not right now. Ice? Ice had worked. Drawing in his breath, he prepared to cast the spell. 

As he cast the spell, the dragon launched itself forward, grabbing Loki in his jaws, and Loki prayed. 

\--- 

Pain. That was the first thing Loki experienced waking up. Was he meant to feel pain in after death? That didn't seem right. 

"He's tough, for a dunmer," Thor murmured close to him, and horror rushed through his body. Did Thor die too? That wasn't right. He thought he'd saved him, and even so, shouldn't he have gone to Sovngarde?

"Not many people survive scrapes with dragons, especially since the Dragonborn has gone." That voice was unfamiliar, and Loki remained still, trying to figure out who he was.

"I'm sorry for dragging him here, brother, I did not know what else to do."

"Thor, it's fine." The mysterious voice sounded half exasperated, half amused, "You were attacked by a dragon! Loki was bleeding out! I'd have to be heartless to turn you out."

"Does Karnilla resent us being here?" 

"No. And if she did, she can swallow her resentment and accept it. You're my family, and you're hurt."

"But Loki is not, Baldur." Ah, there was a name. Baldur chuckled.

"He's been here three days. He's practically become part of the furniture." 

So probably not dead, Loki figured, and when he heard boots scrape as Baldur left, he let himself rouse with a small groan. His eyes opened and flickered, vision blurred to begin with, but cleared up slowly to reveal the interior of a warm home. Loki was lay beside a crackling fire on his bedroll, with his pack, weapons, boots and hood beside the hearth. Thor was sat by his bedside, cross-legged, watching him.

"You're awake at last." Thor sighed when he realised Loki had awoken, pushing Loki back down when he tried to sit up. "Easy, easy. You'll open your wounds if you're not careful."

"What happened?" Loki asked, twisted his head to look up at Thor, who smiled weakly.

"I woke up as the dragon threw you against a cliff like a ragdoll." Thor explained. "It heard something in the distance and lost interest in us after that, luckily. You've been out nearly four days but - his teeth dug so deep in you I thought you'd be dead." 

Loki's hand flew to his abdomen, and he felt a poultice wrapped in a bandage on the top of his arm where it had bashed against the cliff, grazing off skin. On his stomach was more bandaging and he could feel where the wound had been bound so he wouldn't bleed out, and there was a wad of bandage against his temple, which he peeled off. 

"Well I seem to be alive, so I think I'm fine." He replied, pushing himself up slowly and grimacing as the wound tugged. "Where are we?"

"My brother Baldur's farm. He lives just south of Shor's stone."

Loki looked at him curiously, surprised. "You carried me all the way to Shor's stone?" 

"It's not that far from where we were to Shor's stone." Thor said, getting up and walking over to the nearby table. Loki's view was obscured, but when he returned, he noted the Nord had brought him food and drink; bread, cheese, cold cut meats, fruit, and mead, at least a week's food to Loki. The elf was far from complaining, however, and accepted it with a nod. 

"But I can't imagine the climb was much fun, especially not with my unconscious body to drag up with you." He said, mouth full of bread and cheese.

Thor laughed suddenly, a deep, warm sound, and Loki smiled a little to hear it, even though he knew Nords were dangerous. "I've carried heavily wood piles. " 

Loki would have good-naturedly punched him if he wasn't injured, and so he just returned Thor's laugh and took a sip of the mead offered to him.

\--- 

Loki focused on healing, casting magic in small bursts to encourage his body to heal. Whilst he appreciated Baldur's attempts to heal him, he was a farmer and a Nord and had no touch for alchemy. The poultice - ale to disinfect, blue mountain flowers to speed healing and tundra cotton to give the poultice bulk - was a very simple and familiar one to Loki and hardly required a skilled alchemist to prepare. Apparently Karnilla was, but Loki had seen neither hide nor hair of the willowy half-Bosmer. According to Thor, she was often out pursuing magical studies, and Loki appreciated her enough for that. Though why a Mer would lower herself to love a man was beyond Loki entirely. 

With his magic, Loki was walking around much sooner than anyone expected and somehow managed to make himself a nuisance; mostly to Thor, but once or twice he accidentally got under Baldur's feet too. Even despite his ability to make mischief, neither Thor nor Baldur felt comfortable letting Loki free upon Skyrim again until his wounds had fully healed. Loki was trapped by the fact he was in no condition to hunt, so even if he did go, he'd quickly grow hungry, and so he needed to get food from Baldur. Which made him bored, which led him to making mischief, which led to the Nords and Dunmer alike getting frustrated with each other. 

Eventually, Thor conceded.

"I'm going to Whiterun soon with some honey from Baldur's beehives for the meadry there," Thor explained. "Come with me and if you make the journey, I'd be willing to buy you some food and let you go." 

"I can buy my own food." Loki snapped back, superior. "Your people may have made Oblivion seem pleasant but I'm capable of that much."

"If that was the case, why haven't you left yet?" 

Loki threw an apple at Thor for his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey to Whiterun was, thankfully, peaceful. They passed by Shor's Stone to have their weapons sharpened. Loki bought some new arrows and sold his filled soul gems to a mage, and then they moved on, passing through the Rift which lived in the grip of late autumn. Loki watched a leaf fall from one of the aspens and felt his heart sink. His chances of surviving winter whilst injured were slim, and he didn't like feeling weak. He needed to heal, he needed supplies, but more than anything, he needed to figure out how he was going to live in the wilderness of Skyrim in winter. He could move to Cyrodiil, which technically had warmer, wetter winters. But he'd ran afoul of the law there (or, more specifically, he'd been accused of committing a crime he did not) and did not want to see the inside of a cell without the money to pay his bounty. 

The easy part was certainly getting down the slope towards the road that meandered near the intersecting borders between Eastmarch, the Rift and Whiterun. Thor suggested they shoot a goat to sell at the market but Loki pointed out that Thor would have to carry it, and they decided it probably wasn't worth the effort. 

"You're more agreeable today." Thor observed out loud as they reached the base of the mountain, and Loki huffed.

"I'm not being suffocated by boredom," he pointed out. 

"So to stop yourself being bored, you felt it necessary to burst a bees nest in the middle of my brother's cattle field?"

"None of his cattle were hurt." Loki frowned, and Thor chuckled good naturedly. "I ensured that much. And besides, it was funny."

Thor considered it for a moment, then nodded. "It was, particularly. My brother was less than impressed, however."

"That's because he has no sense of humour." Loki frowned. 

Night fell as they reached the apex of the valley between the Throat of the World and Shearpoint, and by this point, Loki was wheezing and holding his side. Thor threw him a concerned look and suggested they stop for the night, to which Loki agreed whole-heartedly. They stopped by the White River, building a fire in the shelter of an old Nordic ruin.

"Nordic ruins give me the creeps." Thor shuddered, eyeing them as he tied the horse up to stop it fleeing during the night. Loki shrugged in reply. 

"They don't bother me." He replied, searching through Thor's pack for some food and water. "What's wrong with them?"

"I had a bad experience with one as a boy," Thor replied after a moment, settling down on his bedroll and poking the fire with a stick. "I was born in Ivarstead, you see, and there's this ruin there that everyone avoided - Shroud Hearth Barrow, it was called. Well, one day I was foolish and brash enough to think I could take on whatever was down there. I was quite sorely mistaken. There was a spirit there that frightened me half to death." 

Then he laughed.

"This adventurer came through town a little while later. Turned out the entire town had been duped and it was just this dunmer playing tricks. I still can't shake the terror that I felt, though." 

Loki chuckled and finished his meal, laying out on his bedroll. "Ah, thank the Eight for your superior wit. I feel much safer now. Let all Skyrim be afraid of Thor of Ivarstead." 

"Quieten yourself, elf, or you'll have a reason to fear me." Thor chuckled, moving towards the fire to bank it with earth to ensure it burned throughout the night. Loki smirked and closed his eyes, letting himself drop to sleep.

\---

In the morning, they did not bother with breakfast. Loki went down to the river to wash and drink whilst Thor kicked out the fire. 

"It's not a few miles left to Whiterun, am I right?" Loki asked, tying his bedroll to his pack and lifting it to his shoulders. "I've never been to Whiterun, I must confess."

"Haven't you?" Thor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well, no, we should be there by midday at our current pace."

"No, I haven't. I've spent most of my life in Solstheim, until I moved to Windhelm."

"Why did you leave Windhelm?" Thor asked. Loki smiled wryly. 

"I got sick of the Stormcloak-era superiority." Loki said, though it was only a half-truth, and Thor grunted in agreement. 

One thing Loki was thankful for was the fact most of their journey from here onwards was a gentle downwards slope. They passed back and forth anecdotes from their childhoods, sparked by Thor's story about Shroud Hearth Barrow. Loki told him about Solstheim and what it was like to grow up there, and things he knew about Morrowind. He told him about Ald'ruhn, Loki's birthplace (though Loki did not tell him he was Morrowind born), and the huge hollowed-out Emperor crab shell that made up the Manor district.

"It was called 'Skar'," Loki explained. "And the Manor district was built beneath it, 'Under-Skar'. I spent a large part of my childhood with the enchanter that had lived there before Red Year, who was the first to figure out I had a knack for magic. I mean, I am Dunmer, but especially /for/ a Dunmer." 

"It must have been quite a crab when it was alive."

"No doubt. Much bigger than silt-striders." 

"Silt-striders?" Thor asked, tilting his head.

"Huge insects. They hollow out a part of the shell and travel in them - they move much quicker than horses and because of having eight freakishly long legs, they can travel over much more difficult terrain too."

"Wish I had one of those," Thor bemoaned, and Loki nodded in agreement. 

True to Thor's prediction, it was a little after noon when they reached the gates of Whiterun. Loki was surprised by the little city; somehow the mental image he'd constructed didn't quite meet what he was faced with. He'd expected something a little more like Windhelm, except with more wood and the slight dog-breath aftertaste to the air. 

"My home is here." Thor pointed to one of the houses, and Loki looked surprised.

"I thought you lived in The Rift?"

"Why, because my brother lives there?" Thor asked, unlocking the door with a snort. "As if. His wife isn't very fond of me." Once it was unlocked, he was ushered inside. Loki had never been more pleased to see the inside of a house before. 

Thor's house was well built, the slats of wood fitted together to keep the icy blasts of wind from the moors out of the house. There was a hearth set into the floor, filled with wood but unlit, and a small but nice kitchen space set around it. Thor had a small but practical library, as well, and upstairs, a bedroom. "There's only one bed, but it's big enough to share," he admitted. 

"That's fine." Loki grunted and settled himself into one of the seats, dropping his pack in the spot by the door where Thor left his boots, and let his pain in his side ebb away. Thor dropped to his knees by the fire and with a few strokes of his tinderbox, had a fire burning hot in the grate. 

"Do you want something to eat? I had planned to go to the tavern to eat later, I don't feel much up to cooking, but I have some smoked salmon in my pack if you want something."

"No, I'm fine." Loki replied, letting his eyes slide closed as he sunk further into the chair, sprawling out, the very picture of relaxation. Thor was moving about, unpacking his things before he left - to unload the casks of honey from the horse, ready to prep and take to the meadery. 

Whilst Thor was out, Loki took the opportunity to snoop. Thor's library was smaller than it first appeared, but the books seemed to be merely practical in nature, and focused on the art of war. Loki snorted; what a quintessential Nord, he thought. 

He then moved onto looking around in Thor's bedroom, finding the war hammer with a shortened handle on a weapons rack attached to the wall. He ran his fingers along it and felt the enchantment crackle against his skin; someone powerful had enchanted the weapon, and the raw power terrified Loki to his core. He drew away, though he knew the enchantment was familiar to him. Why did Thor own a weapon like this? Where did he get it, and was he aware of how devastatingly powerful it was? He hadn't caught a very good look at it before, and now he wished he had.

He swallowed and examined the rest of the room, not really wanting to know the answer. He found a neatly penned letter from a woman named Frigga, with a return address to the Blue Palace in Solitude. He hummed and set it down. There was very little else to the room besides a chest of clothes and a bedside table, mostly empty besides a stick of charcoal and a few forgotten septims in the bottom.

He returned downstairs and relaxed back into his seat as Thor returned. 

"That's the honey delivered. Come on."

"Mm?" Loki asked, tilting his head lazily and blinking in confusion. 

"I'm going to the tavern. The Bannered Mare. Ysolda there does a wonderful venison stew." Thor explained. "I'll buy you a round of mead."

Loki shook his head perhaps a little too quickly, earning a concerned look from Thor "I don't drink," he quickly explained. 

"Very well."

\--- 

The earth beneath Loki's feet trembled. His experiment trembled and spilt red scalding-hot liquid over onto the desk, pouring over his notes and ruining the experiment. Tutting, annoyed, he sluiced the liquid off and hung his notes up to dry, then returned to his burner and the flask he had been heating above it. The reddish colour came from fire salts, and that meant he would have to get more to repeat the experiment. He'd had a hard enough time getting the salts the first time around. 

The earth shuddered again and Loki dropped his flask, half of surprise, half of understanding.

The Red Mountain.

Loki's heart leapt into his mouth. His birthplace of Ald'ruhn was not much further away to the Red Mountain than his current expedition on the west side of it outside the Ghostgate, and that meant his parents were in danger. He rushed back to his room to pack, fear gripping him and making him clumsy. Once he'd put his possessions into a pack and hauled it onto his shoulders, after tying on his cloak, and he paused to think. 

Ald'ruhn was on the other side of Vvardenfell, on the opposite slope of the Red Mountain. There would be no way to get to the city, or not before pyroclastic flows and lava tore it to peaces. The likelyhood of him reaching his parents was slim. 

Forcing back a sob, he rushed back outside completely at a loss about what to do. If he were home, at Tel Aruhn, he'd rely on the Archmagister to tell him what to do. Plus he'd be on an island, and not on the slopes of the Red Mountain, right in danger! 

Loki raced outside. Already the sky had fallen dark with sooty ash and smoke, the smell of scorched, churning earth thick and making his eyes water from the vileness of it. Looking up, seeing red, feet sinking into the mud from the rain earlier that day, Loki was certain that he was in Coldharbour somehow. Somehow, this morning, someone teleported him to Oblivion.

He focused on the task at hand. Surely the small settlement on the eastern shore, Indoranyon would have a boat he could get on. 

The earth suddenly cracked beneath his feet, and Loki screamed, reaching out to claw the earth, a moan of fear leaving his mouth as he slid over the lip of earth, mud making gripping hold harder. He felt a blast of heat against his back and he begged himself not to look down, not to look at the lava that he'd plunge into if he let go. His body trembled as he pulled himself back up, slowly, mud making his job even harder. 

Suddenly, the rock he was holding onto broke, and he fell. 

\--- 

"Loki! Loki, wake up, it's just a dream!" 

The dark elf jolted awake, a scream of terror dying in his throat. His face felt wet, his body aching from tension and trembling, and his throat raw. This was nothing new. What was new was there was a Nord wrapped around him, hushing him and stroking his hair, murmuring nonsense to bring him back to the present. 

"Just a dream." Loki echoed, and Thor nodded. 

Loki worked on grounding himself in the present. He was lay beside Thor, in his house, in Whiterun Hold. It was the 30th Hearthfire, in the seventeenth year of the 5th Era. Thor was holding him to his chest and most importantly, he was safe. 

"Wish to speak of it?" Thor murmured against the crown of Loki's head. 

"I dreamed of the Red Year." Loki said after a moment's contemplation over whether to tell Thor at all. "I was nineteen at the time."

"Nineteen?" Thor murmured, then chuckled to himself. "That makes you... two-hundred-and-thirty-eight years old. Very old."

"That's not my major concern right now." Loki frowned, and Thor nodded. 

"Sorry. You saw the Red Mountain erupt?" Thor was stroking Loki's hair, tangling his fingers through it like he was braiding it between his fingertips. 

"Yes. I was collecting fire salt samples on the eastern slopes near the Grazelands on Vvardenfell, for House Telvanni, when it did. The earth opened beneath my feet and I nearly fell into a chasm of lava. Then you woke me up." 

"What happened after that?" 

"I don't wish to speak about it further." Loki snapped. "Please let me sleep." 

Thor nodded and bundled them both up again in warm furs. Loki pulled away from Thor's grip, and he remained awake for a long while, thinking, before sleep consumed him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait D: I ran into a lot of trouble in college. I'll attempt more regular updates for this and Scratch me Raw, I Hope I Bleed now I'm out of it.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki crouched, readying his bow.

The wolf before him was unaware of the dark elf stalking it, the wolf itself busy being a hunter. Loki's aim was good but the wind was against him and the peaks of heather and moor grass made it harder for him to see predators around him. Hunting in Eastmarch was much easier.

He was still with Thor, frustratingly, four days later. He could afford to buy food but already it was frosting and Loki needed warm clothes and new bedroll if he was going to survive winter outside. Furs were just too expensive. So he'd have to get them himself.

He was building up his alchemical supplies too. Soapwort plants were growing scarcer and scarcer as they died, so he collected those so he could wash. Blue Mountain flowers, blisterwort mushrooms, impstools and fungal pads all supplied ingredients that died in winter he used in health mixtures and poultices. He made a mental note to buy some moon sugar from the Khajiit caravans; whilst technically illegal, the drug warmed the body when consumed and staved off cold. Snowberries had a similar effect to a lesser degree and the concentrated juice could be taken if he ever felt the need to plunge into one of Skyrim's waterways.

His concentration was on the wolf in front of him, though. It had a lovely looking white coat with a light dusting of black hairs on top, the hairs getting more common until the paws which were totally black, a sort of dull sooty colour. He hoped not to use this pelt in making a new bedroll. It was a surprise it could stalk prey in the grey peaty moors of Whiterun, though Loki could sort of understand it with the thick grasses, and plenty of places to hide.

He lined up his shot, took a breath, and pulled the bowstring taut. Archery was not Loki's strongest suit, but it was the best way to kill the wolf without damaging the pelt too much. With that thought, he aimed; sucking in his breath and holding it, feeling time seem to slow around him. It was not magic; just pure concentration.

Just as the wolf's muscles bunched, preparing to chase its prey, Loki let the string go and watched the arrow slice through the air. It struck the wolf in the chest, leading to the body flopping into the grass. Only injured, the wolf growled, and Loki moved in with his knife.

\---

He caught two wolves, but their furs wouldn't suffice to make a bedroll with. He'd taken only what was useful and left the rest for another predator to devour. Loki was frustrated with his progress and he knew he'd need more, but the exercise with his injury winded him too badly to hunt any further. There was still plenty of daylight left, though, and with the furs in his pack, Loki decided to go fishing. Thor had given him some more supplies and one of the things he had given was a net for him to net fish.

He caught several salmon, some silverside perch and a river Betty. All would do good for smoking and eating. He traded a couple of the salmon for some mead at the meadry across the river from when he was fishing, then returned to Whiterun, loaded from his catch.

He sold of most of the wolf meat at the butchers stall in the market, which was generally happy to take any sort of meat. As well as some gold, he got an elk hide that had a few tears in it and generally wasn't good for clothing, but it suited Loki's needs just fine. And finally, he bought some salt, and returned.

"Welcome back." Thor greeted warmly. Loki smiled back besides himself - he had to stop instinctively /smiling/ when he saw Thor - and set his pack down, sighing and approaching the fire to warm up.

"Brought you some mead." Loki said, jerking his head towards his pack. "As I said, I don't drink, but there's only so much salmon I can eat, so I traded some for a couple of bottles."

"Divines, you are wonderful." Thor said thankfully, retrieving the mead after Loki gave him permission to do so.

"Glad you think so." Loki said, stretching and collapsing by the fire in a bone-tired heap in one of the seats. He listened to Thor open a bottle and take a sip, then sigh.

"So how was your hunt? Successful, by the looks of it." Thor asked, returning to his seat. Loki nodded and cracked open an eye.

"Of course. A couple of wolves, some salmon, and I restocked my pharmacopoeia." Loki told him with a nod.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Once he was successfully warmed by the fire and his fingers had relaxed from being stiffened by cold, he dragged his pack close and took out the mother-of-pearl and began to carve - and despite himself, the amulet turned personal. He carved it into an oval shape, and put in three symbols - the smallest two in the corners at the top, one of House Hlaalu, the Great House his mother had belonged to, and house Redoran, the house his father had belonged to. In the centre, he carved the symbol for House Telvanni, his own Great House.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around it, tossing it back into his pack to forget.

"I want to go to Riverwood."

Thor's head popped up from being tilted down, staring at his bottle of mead. "How come?"

"I need furs. Things like that." Loki explained, sitting up a bit. "Perhaps the game will be better south of Lake Ilinalta.”

"I see. We can go up there tomorrow if you'd like."

"We?"

There was a tense moment between them, before Thor ventured, "Do you want my company?"

"I hadn't expected it," Loki replied somewhat sourly. Thor's slightly hurt expression prompted Loki to add, "But if you want to come along, I shan't stop you."

Thor nodded, and his hurt expression went away.

\---

When they set out the next day, Loki complained the entire way about the cold. Thor laughed at him, cutting through the tussocks of moor grass and heather with ease on the way up the slope into the mountain valley in which Riverwood was nestled.

"Laugh all you like, but you have cold, Atmoran blood." Loki growled. "You are adapted to the cold. My kind grew up on the Summerset Isle in the far south, made exodus to a volcano and called that our home."

"True enough," Thor cracked him a lopsided grin, "yet it is funny the way you complain."

"I'll stab you in the foot, I swear," Loki warned.

Once past the rushing, rumbling waterfalls, it was a short hike along a worn stone path until they reached the little hamlet of Riverwood. An island sat in the middle of the river, parting it in two, with an old lumber mill sat precariously on the sand spit, the wheel churning and rattling ever so often. The village itself was charming, made up of small wooden cabins, with a trader, a blacksmith, an inn, and Loki's target - a hunter’s lodge.

The dunmer stepped inside, leaving Thor to please himself. The inside was warm and cosy, a fire pit set into the centre of the room with chairs and tables set around. As well as the patron, there was a group of three warriors that Loki recognised as being Skaal - Nords from the provincial island of Solstheim, trading.

"Good morning!" One of them greeted - a fair haired warrior sporting a goatee.

"Good morn." Loki greeted carefully, nerves on edge at the boisterous Nords.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," he thrust his hand out, and Loki shook it carefully. "Fandral."

After some conversation, Loki discovered they - a party made up of Fandral, a rotund axe man named Volstagg, and a grim warrior named Hogun - were adventurers, selling the things they didn't need before returning home, to the Skaal village of Solstheim. "We need to get back before winter rolls in - we'll be needed. Especially if the Reiklings get grabby."

Loki gave an understanding grimace. Reiklings, little goblin men that roamed the island, were often a problem when he lived in Tel Mithryn. Whole stores of food, ingredients and spells could often disappear overnight to them.

"What are you selling?" He asked. "I need to buy some furs before winter. I don't wish to freeze in a blizzard."

"Understandable." Fandral replied. "We have a parka that's a little worse for wear we're willing to sell - an old one of mine, it has a few holes in it and it's a little too small for me now. Plus we have some extra reindeer hides from hunting."

After some negotiation, Loki managed to make Fandral part with the parka and two reindeer hides, trading the rest of the mother-of-pearl and a recipe for a strong healing tonic. When he slipped the parka on, he actually made a small sound of pleasure at the feel of the thick furs against his skin.

"That sorely needed?" Fandral laughed at his reaction, and Loki hummed and nodded.

"Yes," He did up the clasps and the belt, wrapping himself in a heavy warmth that he could happily sleep in. "Yes, quite sorely. Thank you. Farewell. I hope we cross paths again."

"Fare well!" Fandral waved back, and Loki stepped back out into the cold - though now, thanks to the Skaal parka, he couldn't feel the icy air against his skin.

\---

"There's something about Riverwood that is unlike the rest of Skyrim." Thor said as they began to climb towards Lake Ilinalta. Loki rolled his eyes to that. "I'm not sure what it is, but I like it."

"Besides the smell of cow manure, it's much like the rest of Falkreath." He tutted, fiddling with a loose thread on his parka as they cut across the Guardian Stones to head down towards the lake and onto the richer hunting pastures beyond. "Or do you mean the suffocating welcoming atmosphere to outsiders?"

"For one who left Windhelm because they were unwelcome there, I would have thought you'd appreciate Riverwood as a refreshing change." Thor replied, muttering a quick blessing to the Warrior Stone. Loki rolled his eyes as he touched the Mage Stone - Thor was just quintessentially Nord through and through.

"Riverwood's lovely. Too lovely. Too trusting. I'd have razed the place to the ground and they'd still claim I was innocent." Loki spat in the earth, making across the ford onto the weald beyond the lake. A lone fisherman stood thigh-deep in the water, tending to nets and lines, but aside from that, the lake looked largely empty.

"Theoretically of course. You wouldn't raze a village to the ground." Thor said, concerned and with an implied demand on the edge.

Loki simply gave him a wicked smile in reply and set off through the thickets at the edge of the road, into deeper territory. Once the lake was left behind, with the shelter from the trees, the world took on a peaceful, expectant quality. Birds occasionally chattered, and the air blustered through the canopy, but besides that, it was largely silent.

As they stalked through, bows and spears at the ready, Loki paused ever so often to obsessively gather - mora tapinella from damp stumps, their woody stems good for helping to restore magicka reserves, and the yellow-brown caps delicious in stews; blisterwort mushrooms and wild wheat, to bring back vitality in battle; nightshade for poisons; and hanging moss from above small, briny pools, for more healing poultices.

Thor didn't comment on Loki's gathering; too busy peering around to spot game. Eventually Loki felt a hand on his elbow, and he followed Thor's gaze. A Bristleback, upwind and unaware. Loki recognised the oversized boar from Solstheim, where Reiklings sometimes rode them into battle - and the only other things Loki really knew about them were that their sweet, nutty, intensely flavoured meat tasted fantastic roasted over a spit, especially with garlic and the mora tapinella mushrooms he'd already picked, and that their tusks had antiseptic properties.

But... there was one thing. "Us two against a bristleback?" Loki mouthed.

"It's not that hard." Thor mouthed back, gripping his spear firmly.

"Speak for yourself." Loki replied. After a moment, he drew an arrow with a silent sigh. Thor was one of those who were liable to get them both killed from boldness. Nocking the arrow, he glanced at Thor.

Neither had a chance to fire. As Thor drew back his spear to charge, the whole forest lit up in a bright ball of light, forcing both men to shield their eyes, their prey fleeing past them in terror. A huge crash, like a crack of thunder, echoed off of the mountains and the fjords to the north, shaking the very earth beneath their feet.

Then everything went very dark, and very silent.

Loki blinked, his vision adjusting after a moment. The wind had stopped and the birds had ceased singing, taking away the only signs of life the weald had. The bristleback was also gone. At the centre of the strange, cataclysmic ball of light had landed an Altmer mage, very much dead, eyes wide open and an unfinished scream on his lips. His robes were in tatters - torn apart by what looked like a mace repeatedly bludgeoning his flesh.

"Divines...” Thor breathed, looking away.

Loki could not. There was something humming in the fist of the Altmer, and despite his wariness, he needed to know what it was. It was pulsing, pounding, like magicka was leaking from it - and yet something so much more.

"Loki...." Thor warned when he realised what Loki was doing.

"I have to. Can't you hear it?" Loki asked, kneeling besides the corpse. Up close, the coppery smell of blood assaulted his nose, causing his eyes to water in disgust.

"I don't hear anything." Thor tiptoed closer to extract Loki from his foolish pursuit. "What I see is a dead Altmer. His enemies are surely close."

"I doubt it." Loki replied. Pulling open the Altmer's fist was a little difficult, but not impossible - rigor mortis had set in, which led Loki to believe the corpse was at least a day old. What lay there was a metal ball, perhaps ebony, about the size of a chicken's egg, with blue inscriptions written on in a language Loki didn't understand.

"What is that?" Thor breathed, pulling Loki away once the ball was in his hand. Loki smoothed his thumb over it, feeling the raw magicka swirling inside like mist on a river.

"Something powerful." He breathed. "Something dangerous."

 

 


End file.
